7

Dear Ozzy

Oh Oz-matoz. My Great and Powerful boy. You steal my breath with your wet-lipped smile and those eyes that give you away. Today I got a Facebook memory served up from May 30, 2011 at 12:14am. It was my status update that said simply: Here we go. And away we went.

Who was the first baby ever born? you like to ask me, and I stumble a bit with evolution and the Bible before settling on I don't know. You have a scientist's mind, always asking questions, and I have a mother's mind, always thinking I need to have the answer. But a lot of the time/most of the time, I don't, though I am hoping we have a few years before that becomes unflinchingly obvious to both of us. Who was the first baby ever born? Might as well have been you because the world cracked open new the moment you came into it.

And here we are--you are 7. Most mornings now you wake up at 6am and get yourself dressed while singing a song that goes like this: I love sunny daaaays, when anything is possible... You may have made up this song on your own, I am not sure. But I do know that when you draw, you act out every single sketch in a loud, throaty falsetto, even if you're just drawing a straight line. Woaaahhhh guys! Over here! Here we go! For a line. Just a line.

With you, a line is a possibility, something to be toed then crossed, danced across really, a horizon stretched as wide as your smile. Here we go indeed.

Happy birthday my sweet, smart, delicious Ozzy Fozzy. 

I love you I love you I love you.

Mommy

6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, introducing Ozzy, cranky, pregnant me